


Vi(t)a Dolorosa.

by carefulfleshgnawer



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Description of illness and wounds, Gen, Illness, Medical... stuff, Whumptober prompt: Please stop; no more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27225724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulfleshgnawer/pseuds/carefulfleshgnawer
Summary: Lucifer suffers endlessly.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Vi(t)a Dolorosa.

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on tumblr a while back and figured i should post it here too :D
> 
> It's based off a whumptober prompt but like i dont remember what day it was anymore haha... just letting it be...
> 
> Lmao u have no idea how absolutely pleased I am with the title for this... via dolorosa is sorrowful way/ way of suffering... vita dolorosa is sorrowful/suffering life... so fitting for Lucifer I just *clenches fist*

Lucifer is in pain.

No, that’s not quite right. Lucifer is in agony. He feels the kind of torturous dolor that few can even imagine.

“Be patient, brother,” Samael says with his usual easy smile, and though he speaks respectfully, Lucifer loathes his tone. “The research is progressing steadily. You will see relief.”

And he says that every time he comes down. And always the research progresses, either steadily or quickly, or better than hoped, but-

But there is never  _ relief _ .

Lucifer’s veins are full of fentanyl, his skin is covered in gauze soaked in soothing solutions, he is not jostled or bumped, he is given pure oxygen, liquids and intravenous feeding, antibiotics upon his wounds and within his weakened body so that he might not grow even sicker. 

They are doing  _ everything they can _ … and it’s never enough.

Last month he broke a bone when he tried to shift on the bed.

Last week the skin of his arm peeled straight off like a perversion of a glove, leaving glistening red fasciae and muscle behind. His fat is long since burnt off with the energy he needs to just cling onto this rotting form. What they feed him through the drip is barely enough to keep all of him from wasting away completely. 

_ No one ever tells you how much energy it takes to rot away. _

“No more,” Lucifer croaks when his vision tunnels, focused on Samael’s infuriating face. His soul is heavy and full of searing agony and directionless anger. 

He is going insane with the pain. He is going insane with the helplessness he feels within this body. “I can not bear it. Help me  _ now _ .”

“We are almost there, brother,” Samael says, his face finally taking on some slight bit of empathy as he takes up and cradles Lucifer’s bandaged hand in his own. The contact has Lucifer gritting his teeth as  _ it burns _ .

“Oh, forgive me,” Samael says apologetically, setting the hand back down. It still burns where he touched it, and burns anew where it lies against the bedding. It will not abate for hours yet.

“No more,” Lucifer says, part of him wishing he could muster up the strength to speak more forcefully, more angrily. As it is, it’s a raspy thing, barely above a whisper. It’s the  _ râles de la mort _ . __

He is the strongest brother, the King of Light… so  _ why  _ does he feel like a dying, pathetic little thing?

“I know it hurts brother,” Samael says gently, coming up closer, careful not to touch. “I also feel this pain, even if not as much. Please, just a little more patience. We will give you a new body soon.”

Oh, Samael’s words anger him so. Lies and empty promises, nothing more. Even so, he can not help but wish for them to be true.

“Can you up the dose of the painkillers?” Samael asks one of the doctors.

“If we do that, we should intubate him first, otherwise he might stop breathing,” the further-off voice of a doctor replies.

“Will you let them intubate you, brother?” Samael asks again, voice soft.

“Only if it helps,” Lucifer replies, closing his eyes in defeat.

\--

Lucifer takes pleasure in knowing that humans age and deteriorate. A sick little part of him loves how short their lifespans are. It makes him feel less alone.

The elderly… are in pain like him, have trouble moving like him, are prone to exacerbated illness like him, and usually have a whole host of - occasionally quite debilitating - chronic illnesses.

The Illuminati’s research gives Lucifer more relief than section thirteen ever did. Thanks to the elixirs, he can even break bedrest for periods of time. He is still in pain, he still suffers every second of every hour of every day- but it’s better. He has  _ some control _ over his life, his body.

Their hunt for demons with regenerative abilities has been going on for ages, and  _ this particular one  _ has been difficult to get a hold of, so Lucifer should be pleased right now, however…

He finds himself  _ jealous  _ instead.

One of his most loyal demon eaters, Saburota Todou, stands before him, fresh faced and young and so easy, where he used to… he used to rest his weight more on the left leg due to an old injury, used to cradle his joints where they ached with age, used to stand with a muted sort of dignity…

And now he’s gone and cheated time and illness, and Lucifer can’t help but feel cheated as well, because Lucifer  _ hasn’t  _ magically and instantaneously gotten  _ better _ and  _ happier _ , and it makes him  _ seethe _ .

“I am most pleased to report my success to you, Commander,” Saburota says with a toothy smile, eyes shining with pride. He wants praise, wants acknowledgement. It’s all he’s ever wanted from Lucifer, and it has never been so  _ hard to give _ .

“You’ve… done well,” Lucifer grits out. There’s something sharp and bitter in his tone that the demon eater catches onto, his happy expression dimming into soft confusion as he stares at his master, wide-eyed. 

“Thank you for your service,” Lucifer goes on, somewhat blankly, “Your loyalty and dutifulness do not escape me. You are most valuable to me.”

Saburota takes a bow, his countenance much more muted than a second ago. He radiates confusion, but does not voice it. “Is there anything else you will have of me, Commander?” he asks, politely.

“No,” Lucifer says, managing finally to sound impartial, “You can enjoy some well-earned rest for now. When something arises, you will be notified.”

Another bow, “Thank you, Commander.” And then he leaves quietly, leaving Lucifer alone with these terrible emotions.

Lucifer is doing quite well in comparison to the early days of the Illuminati. He isn’t falling apart, he can move, he can breathe without feeling like he’s dying over and over again.

But Lucifer remains dependent on  _ them _ \- the researchers and the  _ research  _ \- every little thing that helps him fight against the deterioration of his body.

Lucifer reaches over to his nape, where needles pour medicine straight into his spinal canal, catheters drilled through the bone.

He closes his eyes as a wave of pure hatred washes over him, strong enough to leave him dizzy. Goose bumps prickle his skin under the hospital gown.

_ ‘It’s so unfair, _ ’ he thinks, thumbing the thick cable with a sneer, ‘ _ I deserve an able body more than them all, and am left wanting time and time again. _ ’

How he loathes Samael and humans and even his own little followers.

Lucifer doesn’t know how much longer he can  _ take this _ .


End file.
